


Whatever I Want (Whatever That Is)

by brooklinegirl



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-03
Updated: 2012-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-28 20:18:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brooklinegirl/pseuds/brooklinegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Frank walked in on Gerard going down a girl in the dressing room, he was <i>pissed</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever I Want (Whatever That Is)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you SO MUCH to soundslikejai for beta work, and for keeping me from making terrible mistakes with Han Solo action figures. <3

The first time Frank walked in on Gerard going down a girl in the dressing room, he was _pissed_. He stood there staring for a handful of seconds, and Gerard didn't even notice – he was too busy being face-fucking-deep between this girl's legs. The girl's jeans were in a crumpled ball on the floor, her Iron Maiden t-shirt (a little too on the nose there, Frank thought snottily) was soaked with sweat and stretched tight across her breasts, and her hands were sunk into Gerard's damp, dirty hair, hanging on.

 _She_ noticed Frank – she tugged on Gerard's hair to get his attention while she eyed Frank, but Gerard just moaned, and slid closer on his knees, one hand pressing tight against her hip, the other one - _God_ , Frank couldn't believe this shit – busy between her legs, clearly finger-fucking her as he licked her clit.

"Gerard," she said finally, sternly, shaking her dirty blonde hair out of her face, while Frank glared. "We've got company."

Gerard pulled back, finally, panting a little, and turned to look over his shoulder to where Frank was glowered at him from the doorway. "Oh. Hey, Frank," he said distractedly. His whole fucking face was _wet_ , glistening in the too-harsh lights of the dressing room, and his fucking _fingers_ were still inside the girl.

Frank pointed two fingers at Gerard fiercely. " _Misogyny_ ," he spat out, and whirled around, slamming the door shut behind him as he stormed out.

***

"Uhm." Gerard poked his head into Frank's bunk, where he had thrown himself, glowering, after getting back to the bus. He hadn't even showered first. He was still rank and his t-shirt was stiff with sweat, and he didn't _care_. "Frank. Are you okay?"

Frank yanked the earphones out of his ears. "Uhm," he spat back, "Gerard. You smell like cunnilingus."

"…sorry." Gerard sat back on his heels on the floor next to Frank's bunk, and wiped a hand over his face ineffectually. He looked at Frank, all worried.

"What the hell was that?" Frank glared at Gerard from the bunk, the tinny echo of Greg Attonito's voice spilling from the earphones he'd dropped in his lap. "What happened to your fucking morals? Jesus, Gerard. A fucking _groupie_." They didn't do groupies. They didn't fuck with their fans like that, especially not the girls. It wasn't what they were _about_ , it wasn't even close to what Gerard was always, _always_ fucking saying was their goddamn _message_.

Gerard blinked. "Jo isn't a groupie," he said, sounding mildly offended. "She's been working the merch table for us for, like, a month now. You've met her." Now his eyes narrowed and he looked at Frank. "I _know_ you've met her, but you didn't even recognize her. The people who work with us deserve more than to be just overlooked like they're, I don't know, _cattle_ or something."

Frank rolled his eyes. "Maybe I'd remember who she was if I hadn't been looking at her _pussy_."

Gerard looked at him sadly. "You shouldn't have looked. A gentleman averts his eyes."

Frank was going to have a brain hemorrhage. He seriously was. "You were _eating her out_."

Gerard nodded. "She asked me to." He grinned, sudden and bright. "We've been talking about dragons. She wants one for her next tattoo, and asked me to draw her one. I had this idea?" He leaned on Frank's bunk, using his hands to sort of sketch out his idea against Frank's sheet. "Where it could wrap around her arm, kind of a sleeve, kind of a band, and the tail would go down to her elbow, and –"

Frank was staring at him stonily. Frank was, in fact, trying to set him on fire with his _brain_.

Gerard cleared his throat and sat back. "Right. So we've been talking. And she's _really cool_ , Frank, you would like her, she's got awesome tattoos, really well done, I don't know who her tattoo guy is, but he's awesome, and – yeah." He spread his hands out. "She's nice."

"She's nice." Frank rubbed one hand over his face. Okay. "She's nice. Do you go down on every girl you think is nice? Backstage? After a show?"

"Well. No." Gerard looked at him a little funny. "You know I don't." He waggled his hand back and forth in his explaining-things manner. "Jo's just – fun, and she likes me, and I think she's cool, so –"

Frank's head hurt. "So, what, are you two a _thing_ , now?" He'd never actually even been one hundred percent sure Gerard was in any way straight. That was one question answered, at least. Answered with Gerard's _tongue_ in the merch girl's _pussy_.

"What? No, no." Gerard shook his head, patting his pockets down for his cigarettes. He didn't find any and looked at Frank with pleading eyes until Frank sighed and shook one out of the pack on his bed and handed it to him, and took one for himself, too. Gerard pulled his lighter out and lit first Frank's, and then his own, then tossed the lighter onto the bed. "We talked about it. It was just fun, a nice release, for both of us, and now we're good." He took a long drag on his cigarette, and gave Frank a hurt look through the tangle of hair falling onto his face. "I can't believe you thought I'd fuck a groupie. They're our _fans_ , Frank. We have a moral code here." He shook his head again.

"I'm…sorry?" Which. Frank was. He was also relieved. Kind of. Because Gerard having random sex with groupies backstage kind of completely messed with Frank's whole world order. "I know about the moral code," he said hastily, when Gerard leaned back, seeming ready to settle in and explain it to him. Again. "I think morals are – " He waved his hands around, searching for the right word that would get Gerard to settle down. "Awesome," he finally settled on. "I think they're awesome."

"I know, right?" Gerard looked pleased, and got to his feet. "I'll see you later, man."

"Right." Frank sank back into his bunk, suddenly exhausted. "Later."

***

So that was fine. Gerard sometimes went down on chicks. The cool ones. Who weren't groupies, and who would talk dragons with him. That made a certain kind of sense, and Frank was cool with it. And he got it. It wasn't like Gerard ever said anything about being actually gay, Frank just sort of assumed that it went without saying. But then, _Frank_ wasn't gay, and he was an active participant in their onstage activities, so maybe he was doing that thing Gerard hated where he "jumped to conclusions based on shallow observation instead of paying attention to the individual within, Frank." Or whatever.

He was pretty good with it, though, and he had wrapped his mind around Gerard being…Gerard, and yet straight. Sure.

Till he came around the corner of the bus a few nights later and found Gerard getting his dick sucked by one of the security guys. Neither of them noticed him, and he stopped short soon enough to stay in shadow, ease back around the corner of the bus. He was going to just walk away and maybe find a nice wall to bang his head against, he really was, but Gerard gave this long, low moan, deep in his throat, and Frank just – couldn't take his eyes off of him. Gerard was leaning against the bus, mostly in shadow, but the white skin of his throat caught the light of the streetlights lining the parking lot. His face and his throat were sweaty, and he had his head tipped back against the bus, eyes closed, gasping, his fingers skittering down the side of the guy's face, gently.

His jeans were shoved down around his thighs, and he was thrusting, too, not just letting it happen, but getting really fucking intimate with this guy's mouth. Jesus. Frank couldn't take his eyes away, but he knew he shouldn't be watching – Gerard had pointed that out after the incident with the merch girl, Jo – a gentle reminder that all aspects of sex should be with the consent of all parties involved, and standing there and watching without an invite wasn't cool.

Whatever. Frank didn't need to be seeing this anyway. He pulled back around the corner of the bus, and took a second to gather himself, pressing his temple to the cool metal of the bus and just breathing. The thing was, Gerard wasn't quiet, so Frank could hear his moan from here. And Frank knew that Gerard _thought_ he was stealth when he was jerking off, but how he'd get lost in it – how Frank fucking knew, from touring in the bus, and the van - the _sound_ Gerard made when he crossed the line from just having some personal funtimes to really getting ramped up, getting close. Gerard would get lost in it and forget about everything else – privacy, quiet, the complete fucking lack of personal space in the bus.

So yeah, Frank knew what that moan meant. Deep in Gerard's throat, breathless – it meant that Gerard was getting close. Frank didn't want to look – he refused to. He just shut his eyes tight, but fuck, that made it worse. All he could hear was the wet slip-slide of Gerard's cock into the guy's mouth, and Gerard groaning, then fucking _whimpering_ as the guy apparently did something really fucking good with his tongue, and then Gerard was saying, "Fuck, you've got to – I'm going to – I'm close, I'm _close_ -"

Frank was holding his breath and listening way too hard for the noise Gerard made when he came, backed up by the quiet, obscene sound of the guy's hand sliding wetly over his cock.

Jesus Christ. Frank was rock-hard in his jeans, and he pressed the heel of his hand against his erection, biting his lip hard to keep from making a sound. He heard the soft murmur of Gerard's voice and then the quiet sound of kissing – because of course Gerard would make out with the guy who just had his cock in his mouth, of course he would, he was Gerard. Fucking hell. Frank pushed himself silently off the side of the bus and went inside. He threw himself in his bunk and opened his jeans and jerked off quickly. And _quietly_. Because _he_ , at least, knew about silent time and personal fucking space.

***

Frank was trying his best not to be bewildered, because Gerard's sex life was so very much none of his business. What they did on stage was one thing – Frank knew that, he fucking did, and it had never, never bothered him. On stage with his band, they'd _all_ get caught up in the music. They were all a little bit _more_ , when they were on like that - tuned up, ramped up, thrumming with the music and the crowd and the fucking rhythm between all of them, riding along hard on the beat of the music.

Frank came off stage half-hard most of the time, whether or not anything had happened with him and Gerard. That was just good times, up there, and Gerard had no personal fucking space, so neither of them ever minded.

And if Frank was really wound up on stage for a few weeks after he saw Gerard getting the blowjob (he couldn't help timing his life against that, it was in fucking Technicolor and surround sound in his head, and he'd given up trying to forget it, and let himself jerk off to it every few days), well, he couldn’t help himself, and Gerard didn't seem to mind. Tonight onstage, Gerard was inciting the crowd with a wicked gleam in his eyes, strutting all over the place, touching himself constantly, running the palm of his hand over the disintegrating denim of the jeans he'd been wearing for weeks now, soaked with sweat and barely keeping him in.

Frank onstage didn't even try to ignore it. Frank onstage played his guitar as hard as he could, sweating and throwing himself all over the stage, and hitting every fucking note just the same. And ramped up with it, he threw himself at Gerard the exact same way. He kept coming back to him, catching the sweaty collar of Gerard's black button-down in his hand so he could pull it down, press his lips against Gerard's neck, sucking there for nowhere near long enough. He'd spin away, play hard for a few minutes, but Gerard kept _grinning_ at him, and Frank was drawn back. The next time Gerard slid one hand up the side of his face, his eyes fluttering closed, and slid his other hand down, slow, slow, over the front of his jeans, Frank spun close, slung his guitar back over his shoulder, and pressed himself against Gerard's hip, letting his own hand follow close behind Gerard's inexorable slide down the front of his pants.

And Gerard – God, Frank fucking loved him – just moaned, against Frank's ear and into the microphone both, pressing his head back against Frank's shoulder like a swooning Victorian maiden, his other hand pressed to the side of his face still. Frank had his hand over Gerard's, pressing Gerard's hand against Gerard's crotch, and he was up against him with the whole side of his body, and never mind half-hard, Frank was all the way there. "You _know_ ," Gerard gasped into the microphone, and moaned again one more time, as the crowd fucking went _wild_ , "what they do to guys like _us_ in prison."

Then he shoved away from Frank, fucking graceful even in his sweat and craziness, and Frank spun easily in the other direction, dragging the guitar back over his shoulder and playing the opening chords along with Ray for all he was worth, his guitar pressed against his hard cock, but never missing a goddamned note.

He played the rest of the show like that, feeling wound up so bad it never eased, never backed down. He was soaking wet with sweat, gasping for breath, and still hard as a fucking rock as they made their way offstage. Gerard slung an arm around Frank's shoulder as they went, leaning close to yell in his ear over the roar of the crowd, "Awesome, that was such a fucking _awesome show_ , God, I fucking love you," and Frank just clutched the neck of his guitar and leaned into Gerard. He wanted to lick a stripe up his sweaty neck. He wanted to shove him up against the wall and climb him. He wanted _something_ to push against, anything. He wished they did groupies. Fuck, he wanted to _be_ a groupie.

He was maybe losing his mind a little bit. He was man enough to acknowledge that.

***

The second time Frank walked in on Gerard going down on a girl, he maybe should have been prepared for it. Hell, it was his own fucking fault by this point. He knew Gerard was easy. He knew Gerard was horny. And he knew that Gerard didn't really think about things like _doors that locked_ or _privacy_ or _scarring his bandmates for life_.

But no, really, Frank was cool with this. Frank was totally chill. When he pushed open the door to their hotel room – and hi, Gerard _knew_ they were sharing tonight, the fucker - it took him a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dimness, and for his brain to process what he was seeing. Which, of course, was Gerard on the bed, sprawled between the legs of a really very naked girl. Sprawled face-first. Between her _thighs_. He was completely dressed – he still had his _jacket_ on, even, the worn, dark denim stretched tight across his shoulders – and that had to feel rough against her thighs, Frank thought vaguely. His legs were bent at the knee, boots still on, his feet circling lazily in the air as he went down on her.

Frank shook himself, and made to leave, but fuck, it was _his_ hotel room. Where the fuck else was he going to _go_? He just – he wanted – Christ, neither of them had even noticed him, standing there in the doorway with the harsh light spilling in from the hallway. The girl – she was a redhead this time, and Frank couldn't help but think, _hot_ \- was busy pressing herself against Gerard's mouth, her long red hair spilling messily against the bed, and she was pressing one fist to her mouth, groaning loud, all, "Jesus, yeah, _fuck_ , right there, right there, _right there_."

And apparently Gerard was good at staying _right there_ when told, because the red-headed girl (Frank was almost entirely certain it was Alkaline Trio's guitar tech) was arching up under him and _yelling_ as Frank gave in and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. Not even trying to be quiet. Because it obviously didn't matter, they were so fucking _involved_ in each other.

Frank leaned against the wall outside his own fucking hotel room door. He blew his bangs out of his eyes and drummed his fingers against his thigh. His throat hurt. Maybe he was getting sick again. Jesus. This was ridiculous. He wanted to go to bed. He wanted to take a _shower_.

He opened his eyes when a moan came out of his room loud enough to be heard in the hallway. "Fuck you, Gee," he muttered to himself. "Fuck _you_."

There was the too-loud ding of the elevator down the hall, and Mikey emerged, making his way down the hall towards his own room, next door to Frank and Gerard's.

"Hey," Mikey said, raising one hand in an awkward wave as he came up to Frank.

"Hey," Frank said glumly. "Your brother's going down on some girl in our room."

Mikey paused, and nodded. "Yeah," he said. "He does that." He gave an uncomfortable shrug. "Sorry?"

Frank waved his hand at Mikey. "Thanks," he said.

Mikey tilted his head towards his own room next door. "You want to play really violent video games really loud with me for a while?" he offered.

Frank stared at him gratefully. "Yes," he said. "I really, really do."

"Cool." Mikey slid his keycard into the door, struggling with it a little when there was another loud moaning noise from next door, and a sort of crashing sound. "He does that, too," he said quietly to Frank over his shoulder.

Frank just nodded. "Yeah," he said, miserably. "I know."

***

So, okay, either Gerard had gotten a lot easier or a lot less careful, because Frank had walked in on him way too many times now, and that was just pretty unnecessary. It was hard to find private time on tour, sure. Frank understood that, and how you took whatever three minutes you could find, wherever you could find it, and stroke yourself off just as quick and messy as you knew how. God fucking knew that Frank himself had been running hotter than usual, and had found himself with his hand on his cock in places he'd never usually have considered in the past few weeks.

Like a Starbucks bathroom, while Gerard was ordering coffee, after Gerard had spent the last hour on the bus asleep with his head on Frank's lap, one hand curled under Frank's thigh, his breath hot against Frank's knee.

Or in his bunk, during the day, _knowing_ that Gerard was right there, across the way in his own bunk awake. Knowing that anyone could walk by, push his curtain aside, call his name. He'd stroked himself hard and fast, and pressed his hand against his open mouth as he gasped silently and came all over his stomach.

And okay, once, in the dressing room backstage, _right_ before a show. He was usually too nauseous before a show to get even a little bit turned on, but he'd been so tight and hot that night that he'd known that if he didn't get off now, now, right fucking now, he'd never make it through the show without coming in his pants. He'd shut the door of the dressing room – it wasn't even theirs. He thought it was the opening band's, maybe. It had a lock, but he wouldn't have fucking cared if it hadn't. He'd just braced himself against the door, facing it, forehead pressed against the coolness of the wood, tugging the button on his jeans open, pulling down the zipper, and getting his dick out. He should have been hurrying, but hurrying hadn't been doing him any good lately. He felt like he'd been getting hard again right afterwards, like getting off didn't do anything but make it more intense the next time he got hard.

He'd been hard already, and he'd closed his eyes, stroking himself, working hard to keep the images of Gerard out of his head. Not that it had worked. Not that it had even come close. Every time he got turned on, he was subjected to the fucking _array_ of images he had in his brain of Gerard: Gerard on his knees, going down on that girl like his life depended on it. Gerard getting sucked off behind the bus, looking weirdly tragic and beautiful instead of depraved and dirty like he should have. Gerard onstage, handsy, hot, fierce, controlling the crowd and Frank both with a shake of his hips. God. _God_. Frank had been so turned on his hands had been shaking, and he'd pushed himself along, stroking faster, pressing his forehead hard against the door, trying not to come yet. Too soon, he'd been too close and he'd taken a breath, trying to back himself off, concentrating on the rough slide of his hand over his cock, the feeling of it instead of thinking about anything.

He'd managed it, too, gasping silently and finally allowing himself to come, cupping his other hand over the head of his cock as he did so, thinking just of sex, just of this, just of getting _off_ and not at all about anything else that had been happening lately.

He'd felt _good_ , afterwards, he'd felt great. He'd felt on, set, punchy, and he didn't even feel sick the way he usually did before a show. Man, he had to try jerking off before shows more often. He rode the high through the show, and really made a menace of himself onstage – he couldn’t help it, he felt _awesome_. He got in Mikey's space onstage repeatedly, playing right up next to him, practically _leaning_ on him. Mikey just kept playing, shaking his head to get the hair and sweat out of his face, and occasionally looking up at Frank though his glasses, but not ever really reacting. Frank pushed it, because he wanted to, playing closer, forcing him back step by step till Mikey was up against Bob's drum kit and Bob was giving him a dark look without missing a beat, saying _I will fuck you up_ with his eyes. Frank backed off a little – there was a line of demarcation that Bob went over with him before every show. _Every_ show, even when Frank whined that he knew, okay, he _knew_ where the line was.

("It's here," Bob said, sketching a wide semi-circle around his drum kit with a sweep of his arms. "This is the line. What happens if you go over the line, Frank?" His voice was patient.

"You kill me in my sleep," Frank recited back dutifully.

"I kill you in your sleep, exactly." Bob eyed him. "You do not climb on my drums."

"I do not climb on your drums." Frank rocked forward onto his toes and back again, fingers drumming against his thigh.

"You do not climb on me while I’m _playing_ my drums," Bob said, waiting for Frank's reply.

"Aw, Bob, come _on_." Unfair. Frank had never knocked over Bob's drums from climbing on Bob. And he'd only injured Bob a tiny, tiny bit.

"You do not _climb_ on me while I’m _playing_ my _drums_ ," Bob said sternly.

"Fine." Frank blew his hair out of his face with a noisy, obnoxious breath. "I do not climb on you while you're playing your drums."

"Right." Bob looked satisfied, and Frank grinned broadly, and quickly used a speaker to lever himself up and onto Bob's back. "Hi," he said, grinning against the side of Bob's head.

Bob didn't even react – he just shrugged Frank a little higher onto his back and walked offstage with him clinging like a monkey. So long as you didn't fuck with his kit, Bob was _so cool_.)

Frank backed away from Bob's drum kit, hands held up all innocent, and let Mikey drift back to his usual spot. Mikey was impossible to throw off; he was no fun. Frank spent the rest of the set doing dueling guitar playing with Ray, running all the fuck over the stage the whole show, breathless and sweating and loving it. Gerard was there every time he spun around, and half the time Frank just let himself crash into him, Gerard's arm coming up immediately to steady Frank, or push him away, or yank him close and lick a wide stripe up Frank's neck that sent a shudder down the entire fucking length of Frank's spine.

God, he loved his job. He loved his _job_.

Afterwards, he was pumped. He wanted a _party_. He wanted a _shower_. He wanted his _boys_ , his _band_ , he wanted to keep playing all night, never _stop_.

Backstage was a madhouse – Chicago was always crazy, and Frank loved it. Bob knew a ton of people, and Mikey was connected to the scene here, somehow – Mikey was connected to every scene, it felt like – and backstage in Chicago was always crazier than anyplace else. It fit Frank's mood _perfectly_.

He bounced his way down to their dressing room, because he was pretty sure there was a shower in this venue, and he wanted to wash himself, and put on clean clothes, and go have some _fun_. He shoved their door open – it caught on something after a few inches, but he pushed it harder, shoved his way in, and – "Oh my God."

Gerard was braced against the make-up table in the corner. He still had his stage make-up on, smeared now, and his hard cock was in his hand. He had the decency to look embarrassed, at least, and the flush high in his cheeks spread further, till his face was really fucking red. Which made sense. Given the circumstances. "It isn't what it looks like," he said quickly.

Frank opened and closed his mouth, twice, before he managed, "It looks like you're having a jerkoff session with Pete Wentz."

Pete, sprawled on the couch near Gerard, didn't even move his hand away from his cock. "It's _exactly_ what it looks like," he said. He sounded _gleeful_.

Oh God. Why was Frank still here? " _Why am I still here_?" he said, and his voice sounded panicked to his own ears. "Jesus _Christ_ , Gerard. Fucking _Pete Wentz_."

"I wasn't – this isn't – no, Frank, we were just –"

Frank waited, resolutely keeping his eyes away from the couch and trying to ignore the sounds that indicated that Pete was just going to _keep jerking off_ while Frank was there. Which is what he had been doing with Gerard. _Jerking off together_. Gerard. And _Pete Wentz_.

Gerard was fumbling with his fly, tucking himself away – still hard, and his jeans were tight as always, so it had to hurt, which Frank thought was appropriate. Gerard finally looked up, his jeans hauled up, half-zipped. He looked desperate. "We were just talking –"

"Not just talking," Pete interrupted breathlessly. Frank wasn't looking. He _was not_ looking.

Gerard waved his hand in Pete's general direction. "Well, okay, whatever, and, I don't even know, suddenly we were just – " He blinked, and looked over at Pete. "Wait, why were we – I don't even –"

Pete had his t-shirt pushed up, and his hand was moving on his cock, his head tilted back as he watched both Frank and Gerard watch _him_. Clearly getting off on this. _Into_ it. Rolling his hips, and biting his lip, and stroking the fingers of his other hand lightly over the admittedly pretty cool bat tattoo on his belly, and – oh my fucking God, Frank and Gerard were just standing there together _watching_ this and Gerard's hand had drifted down to his crotch again, was running over the outline of his still-hard cock in his half-undone jeans and – Frank was leaving. Frank was _leaving_.

He struggled a little bit to get the door open with hands that suddenly wouldn't cooperate. "Fucking _Pete Wentz_ ," he said angrily to Gerard, who jerked his head up to look at him, his cheeks flushed, but the sides of his mouth turned down. Frank stormed out, slamming the door behind him, then opened it again to yell, "ZIP UP BEFORE MIKEY COMES BACK." He slammed the door shut again, but not before he heard Pete saying, intrigued, "Mikey's coming back? You know, we could _all_ -"

Frank jammed his hands over his ears, but it was a little gratifying to hear the echo of Gerard's voice matching his own, "OH MY GOD SHUT UP," before he headed grimly down the hall.

***

The Pete Wentz Thing was the last straw. It really and truly was. Frank could handle a lot – he'd been touring for his whole damn life, it felt like, sometimes, and he'd seen a lot of strange shit, and just fucking rolled with it, but the Pete Wentz Thing (oh my God, he couldn't stop calling it that in his head, giving it a title, like it was some sort of world disaster, like Pearl Harbor Day or something) was the end. _The end_. He steered away from Gerard for as long as he could, trying to straighten out his thoughts here, trying to think it through. He lasted about six hours, which meant it was the middle of the night when he gave up fuming and smoking in his bunk and rolled out, landing on the floor. Still fuming.

He pushed himself up and swiped open the curtain on Gerard's bunk, but it was empty, just crumpled covers, a drawing pad, two empty packs of Marlboro reds, and a plastic Han-Solo-in-carbonite action figure. Frank headed out into the lounge, and there was Gerard, still awake on the couch, reading a comic book and watching Ray play Grand Theft Auto at the same time. (And throwing in the occasional comment about the misogyny inherent in the game.) He looked up when Frank came in, and he didn't look startled or guilty at all, which just ramped Frank up more. Gerard was sitting there all relaxed, after what he had been doing earlier? No. _No_.

"Frank, watch me kill this guy," Ray crowed from where he was sitting on the floor, knees up, fingers going fast and furious on the controller.

"I need to talk to Gerard," Frank said, aiming for calm. Collected. _Genial_ , even.

"Cool." Ray focused on the game, and Gerard sat up on the couch, running a hand through his messy hair. He'd changed when he got back, was wearing pajama pants and a black t-shirt with a ragged tear near the collar. _Frank's_ black t-shirt with a ragged tear near the collar.

"Hi Gerard," Frank said, standing over him with clenched fists. "Let's talk."

"Awesome," Gerard said happily. "I couldn't sleep. What do you want to talk about?"

Frank was going to maybe explode at some point very, very soon. "Let's talk about Pete Wentz." His teeth weren't gritted but he sounded very, very tense, even to his own ears.

"What about Pete We – oh." Gerard flushed – finally, have some fucking _shame_ , dude – like he had just remembered. Like he maybe jerked off with _so many_ members of Fall Out Boy so many times, it all ran together in his head. Like it was just a thing, like it was no big deal. "Uhm. Frank."

Frank cut him off. "Pete _Wentz_ , Gerard."

"You don't understand –" Gerard started.

"PETE WENTZ." Frank's head was really starting to hurt.

Ray had paused his game, and was looking up at him, openly curious. "That's not actually a full sentence, man. Do you have some other words you'd like to add?"

"Yes." Frank never took his glare off of Gerard. "Jerk off."

Ray blinked. "Wait. As a noun or a verb?" He sounded interested.

"Ray," said Gerard, calmly, pushing his feet into his sneakers. "Frank and I are going for a walk now." He reached down and grabbed his stupid fucking leather jacket with all the zippers and put it on over his pajamas. He popped the fucking collar, even.

"Right." Frank felt frenzied. Frank probably _sounded_ frenzied. He didn't care. At all. Gerard made the mistake of touching his arm on the way out of the bus, and Frank maybe possibly snapped a little bit, fucking yanking himself away, banging into the counter in the kitchenette hard enough to really fucking hurt his thigh, fuck, that was going to leave a bruise, and then grabbing hold of Gerard's arm and dragging him out of the bus.

Gerard stumbled down the narrow bus steps behind Frank, almost falling off the last one and stumbling forward, landing heavily against Frank's back and almost knocking him down.

"Oof." Gerard leaned sadly against Frank. "Frank. Why are you _judging_ me?"

"Because!" Frank shoved him away a little, and Gerard stood in the dark outside the bus, shifting from foot to foot. "Because – God, Gerard, because _Pete Wentz_."

Gerard pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. "You can't just keep saying that. It's not a rejoinder."

He lit a cigarette, and offered the pack to Frank, who waved it off angrily, then said, "Oh, fuck, just give me one," when Gerard slowly pulled it back.

Gerard pulled out his lighter, tossing it to Frank first, genially. Frank lit his cigarette, then – fuck it – held the flame out to Gerard, holding his hand steady and lifting his chin until Gerard leaned in uncertainly and lit his own. Frank snapped it closed, and kept it, turning it over in his hand while he studied Gerard.

"What?" Gerard asked, finally, his cigarette half-smoked down, the tip bright orange in the dark. When he took a drag, his face was lit in a sickly orange-yellow glow.

"Gerard." Frank took another drag, held the smoke in his lungs for as long as he could stand it. He wasn't angry anymore. He was fucking _perplexed_. He let the smoke out with a sigh. "What are you doing?"

"What?" Gerard said again, sounding honestly confused. He looked down at the cigarette in his hand, like he was taking Frank's question literally.

"I've walked in on you having sex more in the past few months than I have the entire time I've known you," Frank fucking explicated.

"Well, yeah." Gerard nodded, eagerly, several times in a row. "I've had sex more in the last few months than I have the entire time you've known me."

Oh. So – it wasn't that Frank was lucky, or unlucky as the case may be. It was Gerard wasn't _stealthy_ with his sex life. Frank ran his hand through his hair, closing his eyes, and breathing through his nose. He was calm. He was collected. He was a leaf on the fucking wind. He lined up his thoughts, and said, "What."

"Right." Gerard nodded again, taking a drag, and blowing smoke out the side of his mouth. "After I got clean, they say the first year is the one where you really need to focus on _yourself_ , you know?" He seemed to be waiting for Frank's response, so Frank nodded. "Right. And that was fine, I was doing good, and, I mean, I maybe missed it a little? But not enough to risk my sobriety by starting something new." He took a drag on his cigarette, and blew out the smoke, squinting at Frank through it seriously. "You know what I mean?"

Frank got it. He really did. That first year, he'd made a huge effort to treat Gerard as normally as he possibly could, no kid gloves, no special treatment. He'd tried to be the example, the _good_ example for fucking once. Gerard didn't need to be treated like a pariah or someone from the short bus. He needed to be treated like a normal, trustworthy adult. And Frank totally did trust him, trusted that Gerard really wanted and intended to be sober. To stay sober. Frank had trusted in that, but he'd _still_ spent that first year waiting for the other fucking shoe to fall. Holding his breath, hoping that nothing would push Gerard that inch in the wrong direction. "I get it," he said finally.

Gerard nodded. "So whatever, I wanted to roll with what was working. But man," he paused to take another drag. "You fucking _miss_ it, after a while." He shrugged. "I figured it was time to give it a shot, and just, I don't know." He looked at Frank. "It wasn’t as hard as it used to be."

Frank blinked. "So what? You just – put yourself out there and - ?"

"Yeah." Gerard blew smoke out to the sky. "It's weird, right?" His crooked grin flashed in the darkness. "I wasn't looking for anything, not really, but I wasn’t _not_ looking for it either, anymore, and just –" He waved his hand around, the orange ember of his cigarette expressively tracing the air.

"It never rains, but it pours," Frank said faintly.

Gerard jerked his head around and gave him one of those smiles of a _lifetime_. "Exactly. _Exactly_." He shook his head. "I don't even know, man. I wasn't even trying that hard."

"Shut the fuck up," Frank said irritably.

Gerard ducked his head, grinning harder. "That sounded conceited, huh?"

"You think? Jesus, Gerard." Frank jammed a hand through his own hair, scraping it back from his head in a fury of disbelief. "It’s not that easy for most people."

Gerard breathed out a laugh. "It's not that easy for _me_ , Frank." He looked up at him. "I don't want to fuck everyone who wants to fuck me, you know?"

"There aren't enough hours in the day," Frank muttered sourly, thinking, again, Pete motherfucking _Wentz_.

Gerard's mouth twisted in a sort of half-smile. "Frankie," he said, quietly, then stopped.

"What?" Frank looked at him, and Gerard held the look for a handful of seconds. Standing there unevenly, one foot half-turned against the pavement, unsure, cigarette burning down in his hand. " _What_ ," Frank demanded, honestly bewildered.

"You just –" Gerard sighed, brought the cigarette up to his mouth, took a long and exasperated drag, then dropped it to the ground, crushing it under one foot, before stepping forward and grabbing onto Frank's shirt. He pushed Frank backwards gently, and Frank was so genuinely confused that it was a shock when his back hit the bus, the metal cold through his thin t-shirt. "What?" he said again, or tried to, but Gerard was kissing him instead of explaining things like he usually did. Kissing Frank. Kissing Frank with _tongue_. Against the side of the bus. Gerard was kissing him, and Frank just – kissed him back, because that was what you _did_ with good kisses. And this was a good fucking kiss.

Gerard had him held there against the side of the bus, bracing himself with his whole body, lips and hands and thighs and feet. Frank was hot _all over_ , just from this, just from Gerard kissing him – kissing him very, very dirty. Pressing against him, so Frank could feel him getting hard against his thigh. Making these little moaning sounds against his mouth. Frank was going to spontaneously combust. He – really thought that might happen. He just –

Gerard pulled back, and Frank followed him with his mouth for a second before managing to open his eyes, and stop pushing forward with his hips. Managed to _breathe_.

"I don't want to fuck just _anyone_ ," Gerard said. "I mean –" He bit his lip, looking in Frank's eyes. "I wasn't against it, with Jo, or George –" George? OH. Security guy. "Or Rachel, or Suzanne, or Paul," and, okay, so Frank hadn't managed to catch quite all of the shows, apparently. "I wasn't exactly _for_ it with Pete, but –" Gerard moved his jaw, his eyes cloudy, clearly trying to figure it out." I don't even know," he said finally. "Pete Wentz is a power unto himself."

Frank shook his head firmly. "I don't want to know."

"You really don't," Gerard said fervently.

"So," Frank said, because Gerard had stepped back from him, and kissing time was, apparently, on hold. "You don't want to be a random sex god?"

"Well." Gerard paused, thinking about it. "I wouldn't _mind_ being a random sex god. I mean." He was clearly having superhero sex god thoughts. Like, Sex God would be his mutant power and he was trying to design the uniform or something. "It's fun, kind of." He pursed his lips. "But nah. Mostly -" And now, fucking finally, he moved forward again. Into Frank's space. "Mostly?" he said again, hot against Frank's ear. "Mostly, I wanted you."

And yes, okay, those were Frank's knees buckling. But _regardless_. "Okay. That's great. But, what?" he demanded. "You decided to express your newfound freedom of sexuality with some sort of -" He waved his hands wildly, trying to even find the fucking words. "I don’t know, interpretive _sex_ dance or something?"

Gerard was staring at him. "I wasn't – I didn't –" He blew out his breath in a sigh, lifting the hair from his face a little. His cheeks were red. "You're making this sound way more well thought-out than it actually was," he said unhappily.

"Jesus." Frank slammed his head back against the metal of the bus with a dull thud. It felt good. It helped center his thoughts on this thing. "Gerard, we need to talk about this," he said.

Gerard's eyes _lit up_. "Yes, okay." His thigh was in between Frank's again. "Let's talk," he said, his breath hot on Frank's lips.

Frank bit his own lip, hard, trying to distract himself from his erection. It didn't help. At all. _At all_. "No, just –" Gerard was hitching his thigh up between Frank's legs, and the drag of it against Frank's dick was making him go cross-eyed. And Gerard was talking, because it was kind of his favorite thing in the world to do and Frank could only blame himself for opening that particular can of worms. But Jesus, so long as Gerard kept mouthing hotly at Frank's neck as he talked, Frank was fine. Frank was _so fine_ with that. Because Gerard was rambling on about how he'd wanted Frank and how he'd _wanted_ him and how he'd been holding back – not on stage, he explained, but on stage was _different_ , that was for a show, and he didn't want Frank for a _show_ , he wanted Frank like this, like _here_ , like _now_.

Gerard had his fingers curling into the waist of Frank's jeans, hot against his skin, pressing in, stroking his waist, the small of his back, dragging him close, and Frank was fucking _riding_ Gerard's thigh. Jesus Christ, he was going to come in his _pants_ if Gerard didn't ease up.

Gerard didn't ease up. Gerard mouthed at Frank's ear, panting against his skin and hitching up against him as he just kept _talking_. "God, Frank, you don't know, you don't have any _idea_ , it was so hard, but I wanted to be sure, fuck, _fuck_." Gerard was pulling back a little, gazing at Frank's eyes intently as he reached down to adjust himself in his pajama pants before moving his hand to the front of Frank's jeans, pressing his palm against Frank's erection. Frank moaned way too loud and scrambled a little against the bus, looking for purchase, looking for _something_. Jesus Christ, he was going to _come_.

Gerard was watching his face, his eyes bright and hot and serious. "So," he said, and thumbed open the button on Frank's jeans. "I waited."

Frank nodded. His throat hurt. He couldn't breathe. Gerard was, apparently, _still_ waiting. Frank was clutching at Gerard's shoulders, and his hips were stuttering forward, and Gerard was waiting, watching him. "I –" Frank had to shut his eyes, breathe in deep through his nose, swallowing tightly before he could actually speak coherently. "Okay," he said, finally. "I get it." His voice was shaking. "Good. We're good."

Gerard's smile was _brilliant_ in the dim light of the parking lot. "Okay, then," he said, and slid Frank's belt open, pulling down his zipper, and pushing his hand into Frank's pants. He wrapped it around Frank's cock and oh God, oh God, Frank wasn't going to last, here. "God, Frankie," Gerard was murmuring. "So hot." He was moving his hand in a warm, hot grip around Frank's dick, jerking him hard and fast and fucking _relentless_. He stroked his thumb back and up over the head of Frank's cock, and that was it, that was motherfucking _it_ , Frank was wheezing and coming, his head pressed hard against the metal of the bus behind him, his hips thrusting up hard into the circle of Gerard's hot hand.

"Oh God," he vaguely heard Gerard say, but Frank was too busy gulping for breath, his head dropping forward against Gerard's shoulder, the leather of his jacket soft and warm against his forehead.

"Gee," he said, and his voice sounded blurry. "God, Gee, that was just –"

"Oh God. Not again." Frank jerked his head back at the sound of Mikey's voice, and Gerard yanked his hand out of Frank's pants. Over Gerard's shoulder – because Gerard was staring at Frank all big-eyed and _not_ turning around – Mikey was standing half-out of the door to the bus, with his hand spread over his eyes. "Gerard," Mikey said. "We talked about this."

"Sorry, Mikey, sorry, sorry," Gerard chanted, his face flushed and his eyes bright. "I didn't mean to."

Mikey, eyes still covered, waved his hand in their general direction. "I didn't need to see that. I didn't need to see it before, when it was Steve, and I didn't need to see it now, when it's Frank." He paused for a second, then said, "Hi, Frank," as an afterthought. "I'm going in the bus now," Mikey said firmly. "And you're going to stop screwing around where I can walk in on you."

"I'm not screwing around," Gerard said cheerfully. He started to turn around, but Frank grabbed onto his jacket and held him firmly in place. Frank's _pants_ were still open, hi. "Not anymore."

Mikey's voice yelled from inside the bus. "That kind of makes it worse, Gee, just FYI!"

Gerard grinned down into Frank's face. "He doesn't mean it," he explained. "I think he's just thinking about how there pretty much _is_ no place we can screw around without him walking in on us."

Frank shook his head. "Hotel room. Doors. Locks. These are all very good things." He managed to fumble himself back into his pants, zipping up carefully.

Gerard was gazing at him, clearly not thinking about his brother anymore. Frank slid his hands onto Gerard's hips, pulled him closer. "Hotel night tomorrow. There's a bed. We can do more than just screw around."

Gerard bit his lip, moving forward against Frank, pressing his hard-on against Frank's hip.

"You could fuck me," Frank explained softly against Gerard's ear, in case he was being too subtle for him.

Gerard groaned and licked at Frank's ear. "Yes, okay, that," he said breathlessly. He was still hard against Frank's thigh, and Frank fucking loved that. Loved that Gerard was still hard, that he could have whole conversations while he was still hard, when Frank usually couldn't even put two words together when he was turned on. Gerard was flushed, and staring at Frank with pure heat in his eyes, and what they should really be doing was acting like adults, stop taking stupid chances, get back on the bus and wait for tomorrow. With the room, and the door, and the lock.

But Gerard was right here, and Gerard was hard against hip, and when Frank pulled on his shoulders, turning and pressing him against the side of the bus, Gerard bit his lip harder and pushed his hand into Frank's hair, and that was pretty much _it_ for any thoughts of useful and engaging adult behavior.

Frank slid to his knees in front of Gerard. "Quiet," he said, grinning up at him as he pulled his pajama pants down over his hips. Gerard's pajama pants had little pink skulls on them, and Frank breathed out a laugh.

"Yes," Gerard said, "Right, I –" He cut himself off with a moan - _way_ too loud - when Frank got his hand on Gerard's cock.

"Shh," Frank said. "You've got to –"

"I know." Gerard had his hands all involved in Frank's hair again, tugging on it, dragging Frank closer without seeming to realize that's what he was doing. "I know, I will, can you please just – Jesus, Frank, I'm dying here, I really think I –"

Frank sucked Gerard into his mouth, and Gerard did that loud moan again, then flung one arm up over his mouth when Frank dug his fingers into Gerard's hips, a warning. Frank glanced up at him and Gerard was watching, his eyes wide in the dimness, forearm pressed over his mouth, whimpering as Frank went down on him. It was – God, it was _hot_ , seeing Gerard like this, trying to hold back and not being able to, and seriously, Frank knew they were pressing whatever luck they might have had by _just not stopping_ here against the side of the fucking bus after already being caught once, but he couldn't bring himself to really care.

And Gerard seemed to care even _less_ , shoving his hips forward, his hair falling into his face. He'd let his arm fall away from his face and was watching Frank with his mouth open. Frank was taking him in deep, and it felt good, it felt _perfect_ , it felt like everything Frank wanted to be doing pretty much ever. Gerard had his hand tight in Frank's hair, yanking his head forward, and Frank groaned in his throat, he couldn't help it, it all felt so fucking good. Gerard was losing control, pretty much fucking his mouth, hard, and Frank was so on board with that, he couldn't even breathe right.

And – Gerard being Gerard – there was a running commentary, just Gerard babbling and moaning and – "Jesus, Frank, Jesus, so hot, God, please, suck me, do it hard, do it harder, fuck, can I come in your mouth? I really want to come in your mouth, will you just – can I – do you – I want –"

And fuck yes, oh, _fuck_ yes, Frank wanted that, and instead of running off at the mouth the way Gerard did, he just dug his thumbs into Gerard's hips and went as deep as he could, in that zen way, swallowing around the head of Gerard's cock as Gerard's hips stuttered forward, Gerard somewhere far above him saying, "Frank, fuck, Frankie, I'm gonna, I'm gonna, oh God, your fucking _mouth_ -"

And then Gerard's hands tightened in Frank's hair and Gerard cried out – Jesus, too fucking loud again – and flooded Frank's mouth, and Jesus, that was good, that was so fucking _good_ , Frank couldn't even take it. He swallowed, while Gerard panted and cursed above him. Frank slowly let Gerard slide out of his mouth, and sat back on his heels, wiping one hand over his mouth, looking up.

"Fuck." Gerard was breathing hard, his head tilted back against the bus, his feet spread wide, braced. His hair was crazy, a total mess, and his lips were bitten and red, from where he'd totally failed to keep himself quiet at all. "Oh fuck, Frank." He took a deep breath, his eyes still closed, his face half in shadow.

"Gee," Frank said, still on his knees. "Man. You _like_ this."

Gerard's eyes opened, and he looked down at Frank. The color was high in his cheeks. "Well. Yes. I mean –"

"No." Frank shook his head, pushed himself easily to his feet, grinning. "You like this. You like getting _caught_."

"No, I – no, Frank, that's not –" But Gerard's cheeks were really red now, an actual blush.

"It so totally is," Frank said decisively. "There is no fucking way you can't find a place to fuck around where someone isn't going to walk in on you."

Gerard managed a wounded look, even as he was putting himself away, tugging up his pink-skull pants carefully. "It's very difficult to find privacy on tour," he said archly.

Frank giggled. "Right," he said, and moved closer to kiss him, open-mouthed and wet and dirty as he could. "That doesn't mean that you don't _like_ it," he whispered.

Gerard blushed harder – Frank could _feel_ the heat of it. "It's not on purpose," Gerard responded, quietly, fumbling for the words. "I just –"

"I like it, too." Frank mouthed at Gerard's neck.

"You do?" Gerard said quickly, pulling back to look down at Frank's face.

Frank breathed out a laugh. "I just let you do me up against the bus." He leaned his face against Gerard's shoulder. "Twice."

Gerard grinned. "You totally did," he said, and pushed himself off the side of the bus. "Come on, it's fucking late. We need to get some sleep."

"Because God knows we're not going to get any tomorrow night," Frank said, low and dirty. They were still giggling over that as they stumbled into the bus together.

Mikey was in the front lounge. He had his earphones in, and the music was loud enough that they could hear it from the doorway. He gave them a reproachful look from the couch.

"…sorry, Mikey," Gerard said. Again. But he didn't look sorry at all, Frank thought. Mikey apparently agreed, as he refused to take the earphones out, or turn the music down.

"I don’t like you," Mikey announced, loud and toneless over the music in his ears. "Either of you. At all."

Gerard made a sad face, sitting down on the couch next to Mikey and nudging his knee against Mikey's thigh.

"At all," Mikey restated, but he also slouched down further on the couch and let Gerard rest his head against his shoulder.

Frank made a terrible face at Mikey, scrunching up his mouth and eyes and trying to look like a zombie. Mikey blinked at him blankly for a handful of seconds before making a zombie face back. They were good. Which made the whole thing easier. The thing with Frank banging his brother and all.

Frank headed back to his bunk – he was fucking _wiped_ , and fuck yeah, he'd meant it when he said he'd need his energy for tomorrow night. Hotel night. For the _win_. He waved to the Way brothers, and Gerard waved back, a small grin on his face, the color still kind of high in his cheeks, even as he settled his head against Mikey's shoulder and stole one of the earphones out of Mikey's ear to push into his own.

Frank climbed into his bunk, sleepy and sated and fucking – well, fucking _jazzed_ about tomorrow night. About tonight, even. He maybe even kind of made stupid jazz-hands to himself in the dark of the bunk. Whatever. Fuck it. Blowjobs under the stars were _deserving_ of jazz hands. Gerard would understand.

He turned his stupid, dorky, grinning face into the pillow. He fell asleep thinking about Gerard's mouth and dreamt about games of horseshoes in the dark, and blanket forts, and stars.

the end


End file.
